


I Used to Love the Radio

by LadySwillmart



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anachronisms, Cherenkov radiation, Easy Listening Music, Gen, M/M, radishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29362632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySwillmart/pseuds/LadySwillmart
Summary: You know things are going great when I'm lifting inspiration from Bucks Fizz songs. Anyway, this is a quickie vignette from the Black Rose Bad End AU featuring Cid and Nero ... I guess it's technically an AU within an AU because our post-apocalyptic world still has clock radios and Engelbert Humperdinck. I know, just in time for Valentine's Day, right.
Relationships: Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	I Used to Love the Radio

_I used to be civilized_

_And nothing ever got me down_

_'til someone pushed the button down_

\- **Bucks Fizz -[I Used to Love the Radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uShr-lf4n10)**

* * *

"Garlond, wake up."

A light snort from the other side of the bed, hardly a gulf between them. The bed was scarcely a double, with an iron pipe frame and a mattress reeking of ten-million years of rust and the peppery little shells of multigenerational bedbugs and the kind of internal trauma borne from so much childbirth.

Nero tried again, flipping his hand towards what he assumed was some part of his partner. He got a palmful of beard.

"Garlond!"

The unseen man snorked abruptly. "Gods—!"

"It's only me."

"Godsdammit. I should hope so. Nero. Godsdammit."

"What time is it?"

Cid moaned. Nero could feel the wholesale shift of his body as he reached towards the bedside dresser, also unseen. Expert fiddling yielded a compact glow, the size of an old 50 gil piece and the color of Cherenkov radiation.

"Time for you to get your own watch, Nero," he replied.

"I want to check on my radishes." Nero leaned towards Cid's shoulder, though he knew he wouldn't be able to see numbers so small from such a distance without his spectacles. "What time is it?"

"Hang your radishes! It's 4 in the morning!"

"Who can tell?" Nero collapsed back against his pillow with a graceless thump. "No windows in this bunker, not so much as a keyhole. It could be noon for all we know. How good is the battery on that watch?"

"Perfect, Nero," said Cid as the room reverted to its natural caliginosity. "Go back to sleep."

There was a solitary, beautiful measure of silence, just enough time for the mind to begin another leisurely meander into the subconscious.

Then.

"How long has it been, Garlond."

"What?"

"We've been living like this for, what. Nine, ten years. Well, I don't feel any better about it. Garlond."

"About what?"

"You name it. Everything." Nero scoffed. "For one thing, I thought I'd at least be more famous by now. My rising star is in the toilet, Garlond."

Cid rolled his eyes, hoping Nero could at least hear the gesture. "Black Rose tends to have that effect on society."

"Nothing doing, we're stuck here most of the day. It's a wonder we all haven't gone 'round the twist. Or gotten flushed down the u-bend ourselves."

"Hopefully Black Rose can't seep through the dirt."

"Judging by the state of those last radishes I grew, it can and does."

Cid sighed. "Are you afraid?"

"No. Merely missing moonlight coming through windows. And so on."

"How poetic."

"I miss waking up to the radio." Nero seemed to brighten, which had no effect on the visibility of the room, only the mood. "I had this darb of a clock radio. And I'd keep it just out of reach so I'm forced to get up just to turn the bastard off. It really worked too, blaring some of that godsawful easy listening music or worse, the news."

"The news," Cid spat agreeably.

"First thing in the morning, some old goit telling everyone that we're all about to cark it because Garlemald doesn't know when to stop," Nero continued. "First thing in the godsdamned morning! At least wait until we've made coffee! Gods, there ought to be a law. Or at least it should've been. Back when it mattered."

"That old goit probably saved hundreds of lives." Perhaps at his own expense. It was a scintilla of a thought. Appropriately, Garlond let it dissipate like a wayward ember of a lit cigarette.

"Nothing but static now. No matter where you go, it's awful, Garlond. I can't stand it sometimes."

"Mm."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'd give anything to wake up to easy listening music again."

"Nero."

"I wouldn't even mind the news—"

"— _Nero_." Another unseen shifting of bodies. Then with a metallic snap, their stygian illusion shattered with the middling radiance of an old brass desk lamp. They were in a small bed, in a small, wood-paneled chamber, part of a small disused underground military bunker Garlond Ironworks had adopted as a temporary outpost in what used to be the small town of Summerford.

Nero stared, bleary-eyed into the middle distance, in lieu of whatever incredulous glare he would've employed during working hours. "Oi! What's the big idea?"

"Going to the can," Cid grunted, already shuffled halfway across the room, halfway entangled in a pair of trousers. "Then I'm going to put the kettle on, make some coffee. And you can go out and check on your radishes, and play some Engelbert Humperdinck. If you insist."

"Oh. I do." Nero paused. "Thanks, Garlond."


End file.
